On the Edge
by adangeli
Summary: Sam and Jack deal with the ramifications of alien alcohol.


_**Author's Note: This is in response to the MOS challenge hosted over on tumblr. You can play too. Just check it out at mos-challenge dot tumblr dot com.**_

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Alien liquor had to be the worst of all the things they encountered off world. Never sure if it was going to be harmless or not, more often than not they partook in only a little and only when they'd insult somebody or the other if they didn't. Sam, specifically, hated the ones that seemed to have an effect on _only the women._ It felt akin to a drugging of sort because, currently, she was the only one writhing on a pallet of blankets in a tent that smelled heavily of patchouli oil and jasmine.

The colonel would be joining her shortly if she caught enough of the conversation to fully understand what was going on. As the leader of their little group, he was the only one who would be allowed in. Considering their history, that might not be the best news she could have gotten.

She might have been okay if it weren't for the enitrely-too-sensual music the party had birthed after several hours of the women drinking local love potion. Most of them were going at it in full view of the rest of the party goers but Daniel had convinced the local leader that such a display would be entirely uncomfortable for the Earthlings.

When the colonel came in, finally, she was hovering somewhere on the edge between _get off_ and _get off world._ It didn't seem to matter that she knew she was soused, she just couldn't control the feelings rolling through her. "Sir," she ground out around the tension in her throat, "can you go and come back in, oh, fifteen minutes."

"No can do, Carter," he said and sounded a little too amused for his own good. "I'm here until this thing runs its course, apparently."

"Then go sit in a corner and hum or something," she said as the last vestiges of his aftershave wafted across the tent to her. "Or come closer, maybe."

"Oh no, not while you're lit up like a Christmas tree."

"Sir," she moaned. _Moaned._

"C'mon, Carter, cut a guy a break, would you?"

"Me? I'm the injured party here, wouldn't you say?" she questioned breathlessly.

"You moving like that? I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up the injured party," he replied and she realized she was rolling her hips into the seam of her pants. She fisted her hands in the blankets and wished for a little self control, but then the seam of the pants caught her just right and she couldn't suppress a groan.

"Carter..." he drew her name out in warning.

"I can't help it, sir," she whined. _Whined._

He heaved a self-aggrieved sigh and she looked at him. "Look," he said uncomfortably, "why don't you just take care of things here and I'll go," he gestured behind him at the corner, "over there and amuse myself with the corner of the tent?"

She wanted to tell him no, that it wouldn't matter, there's no way she could get herself off with him in the tent, but instead she found herself thanking him.

He went to the corner as he promised and she unzipped her pants. She was almost certain she heard him curse. She slid her fingers into her trousers but missed her underwear and groaned her frustration when she encountered soaking wet panties over a needy clit.

"A little quiet would go a long way," the colonel groused from the corner.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," she breathed as she wiggled her fingers into a more useful position. But she still moaned her pleasure when her fingers encountered slick wetness. And maybe, just maybe she continued to make not-so-soft, sweet, building-up-to-satisfied sorts of sounds as she circled her clit with the pad of her middle finger.

"Fucking hell, Carter," the colonel said not quite under his breath.

And then, she sank two fingers into herself and the sound she made, well, it made him turn around to find out exactly what had happened to her. Not that it sounded bad, just that it sounded so, so good.

Hand buried inside her pants, all he really saw was her wrist and a flash of pale lower belly between the fly flaps of her trousers. But he could tell by the angle of her wrist exactly what she was up to. It took every year of his military-honed control to stay in the corner while she pumped her fingers in and out of herself and rolled her head, eyes closed, from one side to the other. Then, when she was facing his way, she opened her eyes, found him looking, and groaned his honorific: "Sir."

He cleared his throat, eyes wide and fixed on the apex of her thighs. "Stop playing around Carter, and finish it." He meant it to sound like a command but instead it came out like an entreaty, his voice hoarse and rough and far too turned on for a commanding officer.

"I've barely gotten started," she panted.

"You started before I even came in the tent," he grumbled, but he tore his eyes from her and turned back into the corner. Until, that is, he heard the rustling of fabric. He turned to her just slightly to see her pushing her trousers down to her ankles and splaying her knees for better access. He saw a quick flash of course golden hair before he snapped his head back to the corner like a good little soldier.

Except...he wasn't really a good little soldier.

She knew he'd flashed a quick look at her as she pushed her pants down, but she couldn't find the wherewithal to care. As a matter of fact, the idea that he'd look at her while she jilled off in a tent offworld made her, well, hotter. And wetter. And so much more sensitive that when the heel of her hand pressed against her clit while her fingers were still far inside her, she made that sound again - the one that made him turn around the first time.

He didn't disappoint her. He turned around again. "Carter," he said in a warning voice, but his eyes were glued to her just as hers were glued to him.

"Please, sir," she pleaded.

"What?" he asked breathlessly.

"Help me."

His eyes fell closed and he took a deep, scenting breath. "Have a little mercy, Carter. You know I can't."

"No one has to know."

He leaned toward her a little then stopped and seemed to steel himself. "I'm turning back around, and I'm not turning back until you're done and dressed. Understood, Major?"

"Fine," she huffed.

"I'm going to chalk that up to the alien love juice," he muttered just loud enough to be heard.

She kicked her pants the rest of the way off so she could spread her legs and bend one knee up towards the ceiling giving her a better angle to hit the sweet spot inside her. She was so ready, it wasn't going to take long, even if the colonel wouldn't give her a hand.

Oh, his hands. She started picturing his hands in place of hers. Long, long fingers. Short, neat nails. Big knuckles. Warm palms. It didn't take much more than a minute before she felt the familiar prickle of satisfaction begin to build low in her belly. She abandoned her slick channel for the more immediate sensations of her clit and wound tight circles around the little bundle of nerves until she came.

The low, self satisfied moan caused Jack to jerk as he fought the urge to turn around. Nothing happened for a few moments and the heavy sound of her satisfied panting filled the tent. Eventually he heard her pull her pants up and the sound of her zipper filled the tent. He turned, then, relieved to know things were going to be easier to deal with from that moment forward.

He only had to take three steps out of the corner to be hit by a wall of her heady scent. He groaned. Underneath her satisfied visage she was starting to blush. Pink and satiated was a good look on her. And he probably wouldn't mind enjoying it if the tent didn't smell like sex he didn't get to be having.

"Do you think you're done?" he asked her, wanting to make sure the thing had run its course completely because if he had to walk back in after screwing up the ability to walk out on her, there's no telling what he'd do the next time because he damn sure wouldn't be as strong.

"Yes, sir," she said sheepishly. She couldn't believe she'd done that with him in such near proximity.

"It's okay, Carter - it's not like you had much control over it."

"No, sir, but still... I'm sorry."

"Think nothing of it," he said with more breeziness than he felt. "I am, however, going to leave now."

"Yes, sir," she said and she appeared to him to be relieved. Sure the whole situation had made him uncomfortable, but he'd really not wanted to make it any worse on her than it had to be. She was the one who'd had to do something very private not-so-privately. And then he'd gone and made it worse by _looking._

"Sam, for what it's worth-"

"Let's just chalk this one up to alien influence and move on, huh?" she said, sitting up.

"We're okay with that?" he asked her for the second time since he'd known her.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay," he said and turned to leave.

Just as he walked out, the tent flap raised in his hand, she said with a cheekiness in her voice that couldn't be misconstrued, "Who knows, sir, next time it might be you."


End file.
